


Commencement

by scheherazade



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Sanada's life is hard, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Why on earth a senior art history major would take Legal Theory 101 was beyond Tezuka. Fuji showed up to class two minutes late, sat in the back row, never raised his hand, and didn't take a single note as far as Tezuka could tell. It irritated him.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Tezuka meets Fuji Shuusuke on his second day at Seirei University, and therein everything ends and begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commencement

**Author's Note:**

> For [acchikocchi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi), natürlich. FYI there's also a SanaYuki teacher/student AU that ties into this universe, and she's writing it. :)

 

"People talk."

"As they are wont to do."

"You know what I mean."

Tezuka glances at the man walking beside him. Those who don't know better might compare Sanada's expression to rock. Shale, Tezuka thinks personally. Head-on, hard and indomitable; but underlying each layer, a plane of weakness. You just have to know where to look.

"I do."

"Don't you care what they say about you?" Sanada demands.

"Not particularly."

"It could be harmful to your career."

"He's not my student anymore."

Sanada stops dead. " _You're still seeing him?_ "

"Don't sound so concerned."

"He's half your age!"

"He's twenty-three."

Tezuka's phone buzzes. He swipes his thumb across the touchscreen. When he looks up again, Sanada is staring at him.

"If you'll excuse me," Tezuka says. "I must head back to the university. See you next week?"

Sanada gathers himself enough to grunt an affirmative. "Of course."

They part ways without another word. It is sometimes a mixed blessing, having Sanada Gen'ichirou as a childhood friend. On one hand, Sanada is the single most dependable constant of Tezuka's life. On the other hand, when he finally came out to his family two years ago, his mother's first question had been, "Is that why Gen-kun never dates?" — rendering the next time he'd seen Sanada a unique shade of awkward.

Thankfully, they are past all that. Except for the part where Sanada is still much too concerned with local gossip about Tezuka's personal life. But one hurdle at a time.

Fuji is waiting for him outside the train station. A soft smile, a slender hand slipping into his own, and Tezuka can barely find it in himself to care. Not when Fuji looks at him like that.

"Tezuka-sensei."

"Must you?"

"Must I what?"

"Still call me sensei."

"Does it bother you?"

"People talk."

Fuji laughs. He squeezes Tezuka's hand. "Let them."

 

* * *

 

He met Fuji Shuusuke on his second day at Seirei University. Why on earth a senior art history major would take Legal Theory 101 was beyond Tezuka. Fuji showed up to class two minutes late, sat in the back row, never raised his hand, and didn't take a single note as far as Tezuka could tell. It irritated him. Law was not Religious Studies or Child Psychology; it was not something to be elected as a filler course.

By the end of the week, Tezuka had decided that Fuji Shuusuke could do as he liked, as long as he turned in his assignments. Tezuka would neither inflate nor dock a student's grade for attitude. Law must be impartial. Besides, his class had 49 other students — most of them actually interested in legal studies, even — so Tezuka could more or less ignore the anomalous blip on his attendance sheet.

Until a month later, when he showed up to a student government meeting and found Fuji Shuusuke lounging on a fold-out chair in the middle of the lecture stage, a sketchbook open in his lap and amusement plain on his face.

"Tezuka-sensei."

Tezuka looked around the otherwise empty hall. He checked his watch. 8:02. Dean Hashimoto's reminder email had requested that everyone arrive a bit early to meet their new faculty liaison, Associate Professor of Law Tezuka Kunimitsu. There had been something indefinitely smug about the tone of that email. Tezuka cursed the man again for roping him into this.

"Fuji-kun. I was told the meeting starts at eight."

"It does," Fuji agreed. "The full council met last week to set the year's agenda."

Tezuka waited for him to continue. Fuji didn't.

"Do the officers not meet every week?"

"Theoretically."

"Theoretically?"

"According to the charter." Fuji shrugged. "As acting secretary, I actually had to read it. And also attend all meetings."

Tezuka looked around the room again. "I see."

Fuji had a drawing pencil in his hand. He tapped it against the side of his head, lip quirking conspiratorially. "It's all right here."

Tezuka couldn't think of an appropriate response.

"You're not obligated to stay," Fuji said next.

Tezuka weighed his options. Dean Hashimoto had all but ordered him to act as student government liaison for the year; as the youngest member of faculty, he'd been in no position to argue. But a commitment was a commitment. Even if no one else shared his views.

Tezuka set his bag down in the front row. "I'll stay for a while."

Fuji's ever-present smile broadened. Tezuka ignored the way his gut clenched. He took a book out of his bag and began to read, determined to make some use of the time. Fuji returned to sketching, his pencil scratching a soft counterpoint to the crackle of paper every time Tezuka turned a page.

He started when Fuji stood up suddenly. Tezuka checked his watch and was surprised to find the hour hand pointing at nine.

Fuji tucked his sketchbook under his arm and gave a small bow. "See you next week, sensei."

"Yes," Tezuka agreed, before it occurred to him that Legal Theory was meeting tomorrow morning. But by the time the thought coalesced, Fuji was already gone.

 

* * *

 

"He thinks it's been going on for a while."

Fuji tilts his head to one side. "How long of a while?"

Tezuka slowly turns the cup of coffee between his palms. "Last year."

"Before I graduated."

"Yes."

Fuji smiles. "Sanada-san seems like a very caring friend."

That makes Tezuka snort. " _Caring_ isn't his problem."

"Does it matter?"

"I may be losing his respect."

"I didn't mean him."

"No?"

Fuji examines the two packets of sugar he picked up for his own coffee, and slides one over to Tezuka. "Are you worried people will think you had indiscretions with a student?"

"I did not."

"Much."

"Don't."

"Are you worried?"

Tezuka slides the sugar back across the table. "I don't live for others' approval."

Fuji just looks at him for a long moment. The second packet of sugar follows the first into his coffee, which must surely be too sweet by now. Fuji stirs it and takes a sip.

"Can we go to your place after?"

"There's nothing to do there."

"I'm still looking for an apartment."

Something about the way he says that makes Tezuka pause, coffee halfway to his lips. He puts the cup down. "You're not thinking of moving in with me."

"So old fashioned," Fuji remarks.

"Your university is on the other side of the city."

"I enjoy a leisurely commute."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Fuji."

"Sensei."

The corner of Tezuka's mouth twitches. Fuji laughs at him. They lapse into a comfortable silence, and the ambient noise of the cafe fills the space between them. When Fuji reaches across the table to clasp his hand, Tezuka doesn't protest. Fuji has a pencil smudge on his thumb. His skin is warm.

"I prefer to take things slow," Tezuka explains.

"I'm only holding your hand."

"You should find your own apartment."

"Nothing I can do to change your mind?"

"No," Tezuka says firmly. "Not until we're sure."

"I'm sure." Fuji withdraws his hand. "But if it makes you more comfortable. I'll tell Saeki to stop looking for a new roommate."

Tezuka narrows his eyes. "So why did you ask me?"

Fuji shrugs. "I wanted to see what you'd say."

 

* * *

 

Fuji turned in a Legal Theory essay that was indisputably the best in the class, no matter how Tezuka looked at it. He wondered why he cared. Fuji showed up late to every class and left the minute Tezuka turned off the powerpoint, and sometimes before.

Like the day he handed the essays back. The class was packing up, coming up one by one to retrieve their papers, as he reminded them to get a head start on next week's dense reading. When Tezuka looked up to the back row, Fuji's seat was empty.

On Monday, he went to student council with Fuji's graded essay in his bag. Fuji didn't take it immediately when Tezuka tried to hand it over, just looked at him. As if waiting for an explanation.

"Your essay," Tezuka said, and when Fuji still didn't break eye contact, "A fine piece of writing."

That got him a smile. "Thank you." Fuji took the paper and tucked it between the pages of his sketchbook. As Tezuka tried to decide where to sit, he added, "It was a fun topic to write about. I enjoyed it."

Tezuka put his bag down on the nearest seat. It left them within easy conversation distance, despite Fuji's throne-like position in the middle of the lecture stage. Yet Tezuka felt like the one in the spotlight. He reached for his book.

"What drew you to Legal Theory this semester?" Tezuka asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.

"It was something different."

"That's all?"

"Isn't that enough?" Fuji cocked his head. "And you, sensei? What made you start studying law?"

"My grandfather was a judge."

"What was he like?"

"A stern man." Tezuka recalled steely opinions and precise calligraphy. "Immovable, but sharp. And always just."

"He inspired you to be like him?"

"I'm not a judge."

"I'm glad," Fuji said, and Tezuka felt as if he'd missed a cue. "I admire people like you. My grandmother was an aviator, but I don't think I could follow in her footsteps."

"Family isn't the only reason. To be in academia, for example, you have to be truly committed. For me, law is like a promise."

"To your grandfather?"

"To myself. To everyone."

"A promise," Fuji echoed.

Tezuka nodded. "Like between a community. A government and its people. I believe people wish for a good life, and law is the promise we make in search of that life. That's why I'm doing this."

Fuji was looking at him again. Tezuka wondered if he'd made any sense. If he'd offered too much information. He wondered why he cared.

But Fuji was smiling. "That's beautiful," he said.

 

* * *

 

"Your place or mine?"

"What?"

"Saeki's away for the weekend."

"I'd rather not."

"Your place then?"

"No."

"A hotel?"

Tezuka stops. "Fuji."

Fuji looks over his shoulder and slows. "Yes?"

They're in the middle of a park, in the middle of the afternoon, on their way back to the train station. Hardly an appropriate time — or place — for a conversation like this. At least there's no one else around, Tezuka thinks.

"Not yet," he says. "We discussed this."

"You said after I graduated."

"It's been a week."

"Yes. And?"

"A week."

"You already said."

"It's," Tezuka begins. "This is our first date. It wouldn't be appropriate."

"Second."

"Sorry?"

"It's our second date." Fuji is turned away from him, his face barely visible in profile. "We went for ice cream last week."

"That was—"

"After my graduation."

 _Barely_ , Tezuka thinks. "All right. Second."

"I didn't think you would follow the third-date rule."

"It's a rule for a reason."

"The reason being?"

"It takes time to get to know a person. So that it's not just…"

"Exercise?"

"If you'd like."

Fuji makes a soft humming sound that might've been a laugh, shrugs, and starts walking again. Tezuka follows. The leafy trees dapple their path with shade.

Tezuka looks down at a light touch. Fuji has threaded his arm through the crook of Tezuka's elbow. Fingers curl lightly around his bicep.

"Don't you know me already?" Fuji asks.

"Not like that."

"But you could, is what I'm saying."

Tezuka breathes. "I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Fuji tugs on his arm, and they come to a stop. "Because I don't."

Fuji stands on tiptoe, hands braced against his shoulders, leaning into him. His lips look soft; he smells of coffee and dark, sweet things. Tezuka doesn't trust himself to speak.

Fuji turns away at the last moment.

"We made a promise, right?"

Tezuka finds his voice, somehow. "Yes."

Lips brush across his cheek. "Then let's keep it."

 

* * *

 

Tezuka wasn't quite sure how his Monday evenings came to revolve around this sham of a student government. The spring semester passed thus. Fuji cruised through Legal Theory at the top of his class, and no one ever came to the student council meetings, apart from one very lost first-year who wandered into the lecture hall looking for the film club which, according to Fuji, had been defunct for over a year.

Toward the end of July, a student approached him at the end of class.

"Yes?" he prompted when she hesitated. "What is it, Fukawa-kun?"

She ducked her head, and he noticed the sketchbook she was gripping like a shield. She handed it over. "Someone left this behind. I wasn't sure, so I thought..."

Tezuka didn't need to flip open the cover and see the name written inside. "Thank you. I'll make sure this is returned."

Fukawa gave him a questioning look. When Tezuka didn't offer any further explanation, she ducked her head again, mumbled something about see-you-next-week-sensei and hurried for the door. The rest of her classmates had long since left, eager to escape into the sunny Friday afternoon.

Tezuka made a note to bring the sketchbook to the student council meeting on Monday. He hoped Fuji wouldn't need it anytime between now and then.

Perhaps that thought was what made him cautiously flip through the sketchbook, later that night. Perhaps there would be an assignment sheet clipped to an inside page. If so, he resolved to drop it off at the art department tomorrow.

He found photographs, black and white polaroids clipped to the sides of pages, the rest of the sheet filled with sketches derived thus. A few landscapes, but mostly figures and single flowering plants. Some pages contained nothing but freeform lines, which puzzled him.

A handful of pages, near the back — he might have thought himself mistaken, were Fuji less precise in details, had less control over matters of light and shade and depth. Tezuka flipped through a dozen sketches of himself, sitting, reading, frowning at some paper he's correcting.

He snapped the sketchbook shut. His face felt warm when he pressed a hand to his cheek. Shame, perhaps. Fuji was a talented artist. And Tezuka had no right to look through someone's personal sketchbook; it was obvious, now, what this was.

On Monday, he showed up to the lecture hall five minutes early. It was the last student council meeting before summer vacation. Tezuka undid the top button of his collar. The sketchbook was burning a hole through his bag.

He checked his watch. 7:59. He opened a book.

At 8:10 the door clicked open. He looked up, and Fuji paused halfway down the steps. Tezuka swapped his reading for the sketchbook, holding it out.

"You left this in class on Friday."

Fuji didn't move or say anything, his eyes fixed on the sketchbook. Slowly, he walked down to the front of the room. Carefully, he folded both hands around the proffered sketchbook, but didn't quite take it, and they stood, waiting, holding this between them.

Tezuka let go first.

Fuji tucked the sketchbook under his arm. A smile softened his face. "We should go somewhere else today."

Tezuka blinked. "The meeting place is always listed as lecture hall 2."

"The AC's broken," Fuji said. "No one's here except the tech stuck on computer lab duty. I thought we'd go out to someplace cooler."

Tezuka should have protested, probably, but he didn't. Which was how he ended up at a cafe just around the corner from the student union, with Fuji's smile and two iced teas and a little round table in between.

Fuji sipped his drink. "Vacation's starting soon."

"And then your final semester."

"Don't remind me," Fuji laughed. "Looking forward to it?"

Tezuka had a conference paper to draft and at least a dozen books to read. "Should be relaxing."

"Going someplace for the summer?"

"The library mostly."

Fuji made a humming sound. "My little brother's playing a tournament in Okinawa. He doesn't want me to go, but I'm being selfish. It all goes too quickly, and I don't think it's wrong to try and keep hold of something as long as you can."

"I see," Tezuka said, and felt stupid immediately after.

Fuji glanced down at the backpack resting beside his chair. Tezuka remembered the sketchbook tucked within. He drank his tea and barely tasted the lemon and mint.

"So we're reading this book in my history class," Fuji said next, and Tezuka nearly sagged in relief.

He let Fuji steer the conversation from topic to topic, always about school, always easy and impersonal. But during every lull in conversation, Tezuka's mind wandered back to that sketchbook. He wondered what he would say, if Fuji asked. He wondered what _Fuji_ would say, if the topic came up.

Except it never did. And somehow that wasn't as comforting as it should have been.

 

* * *

 

On Saturday, Tezuka picks Fuji up at his apartment.

It's the last day of March, early spring like watercolor over winter. He thought about buying flowers, but it didn't seem right. And he wants this to be — as right as he can make it.

Fuji slides into the passenger seat. "Where to?"

"It's about an hour away."

"Is it a surprise?"

"Does anything surprise you?"

"You always do."

Tezuka doesn't know what to say to that, so he drives. He picked a little place just outside the city. The food is good and the view is better. Fuji smiles at the simple traditional decor, and Tezuka ignores the knowing looks from the shopkeeper's wife.

Midway through dinner, Fuji falls silent as he strokes the side of his teacup.

"I got a job offer."

"Congratulations," Tezuka replies automatically. He remembers that Fuji is starting his grad program next week. "Are you going to take it?"

"It's a documentary project. They want me for some photography work."

"Sounds promising."

"I know." Fuji tips the teacup slightly. It rattles back upright when he lets go. "Saeki recommended me."

"What about your studies?"

"The university said I can defer two years."

"Two years?"

"It's a commitment. I'd have to move and everything."

Tezuka hesitates. "Where will you be?"

Fuji looks at him. "Australia."

Two years. _I'd wait_ , Tezuka can't find the courage to say. It should scare him, perhaps, that he doesn't have to think twice. But it's not physical intimacy that makes something real.

"You should go," he says finally.

Fuji doesn't break eye contact. "You think so?"

"If it's what you want."

"I want a lot of things. Sometimes you have to choose."

"You don't always have to."

"Don't I?"

"You gave up a full scholarship at Seirei for me."

Fuji pours a fresh cup of tea. "I thought we agreed not to talk about that."

"But you did."

"I did," Fuji agrees. "Stupid of me, wasn't it?"

A sharp twinge passes through Tezuka's chest. "Are you regretting it?"

"Regret is a waste of time."

Tezuka opens his mouth. Closes it again. That line of conversation withers. A minute later, Fuji picks up a new topic like an interrupted thought, and they don't talk about it again.

The car ride back is dense with silence. Tezuka pulls over in front of Fuji's apartment building. He leaves the engine running, hands on the wheel.

Fuji smells of cologne, his mouth tastes like strawberry when he climbs over Tezuka's lap and kisses him. Their legs bump against the console, the dash. Fuji lowers the seat back and they fall. But only so far.

"Fuji—"

His glasses are askew. Fuji hovers, lips just above his, blurry and blue in the dark. He thinks he sees a smile.

Fuji slides back to the passenger side. He straightens his shirt. Tezuka sits up carefully and wipes his glasses, puts them back on. He hears the door open.

"Thanks for the evening."

Tezuka watches him go.

 

* * *

 

The summer passed in a haze of libraries and pavement heat. September came unobtrusively. The last weekend before school resumed, Tezuka met up with Sanada for dinner near the university. The restaurant had a sleek bar occupying one long wall and fake crystals in the chandeliers. More western than was Sanada's usual taste, but Sanada voiced no complaints. He seemed distracted.

"Students giving you trouble?"

"Tennis team."

Tezuka blinked. "Tennis?"

A faint scowl appeared on Sanada's face. "I'm the club advisor."

"I thought you coached kendo."

"I did."

"What changed?"

"One of my students asked." He shifted slightly in his seat, and Tezuka narrowed his eyes; it took a lot to make Sanada Gen'ichirou squirm. "The old advisor fell ill. So they asked me instead."

Tezuka drank his water, thinking. "How's the team doing?"

"They made quarterfinals at nationals."

"That's good."

"What about you?" Sanada asked abruptly. "Still working with the student government?"

"Yes. Meetings start again the first week of school."

"I thought you said nobody went to those things."

"They don't."

Sanada was giving him a Look. One he'd learned from Ayana, probably, after so many childhood afternoons spent at Tezuka's house while his own parents were working. But Tezuka had had just as many years to learn to ignore that Look.

He scanned the restaurant, mind wandering toward new topics of conversation. Something drew his eye to the bar. That shock of bleached white hair, perhaps, a too-casual look that reminded Tezuka uncomfortably of sandy summers. And sitting beside the beach-surfer boy...

Fuji noticed him at the exact same moment. Before Tezuka could look away, Fuji had left his companion and was walking toward their table. Sanada raised an eyebrow.

"Sensei," Fuji greeted him. "Fancy seeing you here."

Sanada's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"Fuji-kun," Tezuka said. "Back from vacation already?"

"I had a few assignments to finish." Fuji smiled at Sanada, whose disapproving look faltered. Tezuka could empathize. "I do apologize for intruding. It's just so rare to find Tezuka-sensei not buried in work or his books."

"I agree." Sanada was giving him that Look again.

Tezuka ignored it. "Fuji, this is Sanada Gen'ichirou. Sanada, this is Fuji Shuuske, an ex-student of mine."

"Ex sounds so harsh," Fuji remarked. "Pleased to meet you, Sanada-san."

"Likewise."

"I won't take up any more of your time." Fuji glanced over his shoulder. Tezuka followed his gaze and saw the bleached-blond boy give a small wave. "Enjoy your evening. I'll see you on Monday, sensei."

"Of course," Tezuka nodded. Sanada gave him a sharp look. After Fuji had left to rejoin his friend, Tezuka frowned at Sanada. "What?"

"Are you that friendly with all your students?"

"He's a student government officer. The meetings are on Mondays."

"Which nobody goes to."

"Except him."

"I see," Sanada said. He sounded unconvinced. Of what, Tezuka didn't ask.

Tezuka tried not to think about it as his odd little schedule resumed with the fall semester. He taught Advanced Legal Theory and didn't scan his class roster for Fuji's name. No point, when Fuji was taking an intro film class and cashing in on the extra coursework he'd completed as a second year.

"What's senior year for if not relaxing a little?" Fuji said at the student council meeting on Monday.

The lecture hall was completely empty, as usual. Tezuka had thought perhaps other people — or at least the other _officers_ — would bother turning up for once, considering it was the first meeting of the semester. He'd thought wrong.

"Will you be continuing your studies?" Tezuka asked.

"I might stay at Seirei. We've got a great graduate program."

"I see."

"You don't think so?"

"I don't know much about the art program."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I—" The word caught in his throat. "Sorry?"

"Do you think I should stay." Fuji was smiling. "At Seirei."

Tezuka didn't know what to make of the edit. "I think you should choose whatever makes you happiest," he said slowly. "Many students mistake prestige for a good fit."

Fuji considers this for a moment. "Have you ever made that mistake?"

"Not in a long time."

"When was that?"

"A long time ago."

"You make yourself sound like an old man."

"I am an old man," Tezuka deadpanned.

Fuji laughed, and the sound was almost too bright to bear.

 

* * *

 

The spring semester begins next week. Fuji's grad program starts on the 10th — if he decides to stay. Tezuka looks at his own schedule and wonders when the month of April became so cramped.

Fuji calls him on Monday.

"Yuuta sent some tulips. He insists Yumiko made him do it, but the writing on the card is his."

"What's the occasion?"

"Nothing. But they look beautiful."

"I didn't know you liked tulips."

"It's not about the flowers."

The silence is dense with static.

"Are you going to take the job?" Tezuka asks.

"I said I'd let them know by Wednesday."

"You're still thinking about it."

"It _is_ kind of a big deal."

"You said the university would let you defer."

"I didn't say I wanted to defer."

"Don't you want this job?"

"Seems like you want it more than me."

"I can't accept it for you."

"Good," Fuji says. "As long as we're clear on that."

Tezuka can tell he's missed something. "I'm just surprised you're delaying the decision."

"And why's that?"

"You're usually straightforward about the things you want."

Fuji laughs. "If I did everything I wanted, just like that, we wouldn't be talking right now."

"You think I'm that uptight?"

"I think you're too polite to say no sometimes."

Tezuka really hates talking on the phone. He feels blind.

"Why did you say regret is a waste of time?" he asks finally.

"Because it's true."

"Why?"

"Because. Why would I regret something I already decided against?"

"Maybe you shouldn't have."

"But I did."

Tezuka pinches the bridge of his nose. "People can change. The things you want, as you get older—"

"I'm not that much younger than you."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"You keep making this about me, when it's not."

Fuji is silent. "I guess I'm selfish like that."

"That's not what I meant."

"I make you uncomfortable, isn't that what you meant?"

" _No._ " Tezuka makes himself take a deep breath. "Fuji, no. I can't make your decisions for you. But you also can't make your decisions for _me_."

There's nothing but static for long seconds. Tezuka is starting to wonder if maybe Fuji hung up on him, when he hears,

"I didn't do it for you."

"I know you got the scholarship—"

"I didn't do it for you." Fuji's voice is firm. "This isn't about regretting, Tezuka. It's wanting."

"That makes no sense."

"Then maybe you don't want it enough," Fuji says, and ends the call.

 

* * *

 

One Monday evening in October, Tezuka found Fuji waiting for him at the doors to lecture hall 2.

"This place is getting boring," Fuji announced.

The strap of his bag was digging into his shoulder. Tezuka shrugged awkwardly. "If you don't want to stay—"

"Why do you stay?"

"Because I made a commitment."

Fuji made no response, and Tezuka didn't know what else to add. He was really starting to hate the way Fuji stared at him. They stood there, paused, until finally Fuji looked away, opened the door and disappeared inside.

Tezuka followed slowly.

"Let's have dinner," Fuji said, as Tezuka set down his bag.

"I ate at home, but if you'd like to go get food—"

"Next week then."

Tezuka paused. "Next week?"

"Are the rules always right, sensei?"

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Lately I've been wondering," Fuji said, "about the rule of law."

"What about it?" Tezuka asked cautiously.

"Its real purpose, I guess. Is it to keep order? Or to confer power?"

"It is all toward the same end."

"What end?"

"Protecting a promise, of the kind of life we want."

Fuji smiled. "But we still don't always get what we want."

"Not always," Tezuka heard himself say. He was pretty sure he meant, _It's unrealistic to want too much_. Fuji's eyes were sharp and blue.

"Let's have dinner," Fuji said. "Next week. Before the meeting, or after. Doesn't matter."

Tezuka breathed. "I don't think that would be appropriate."

"Why? We could talk about your work. Classes. Maybe I need a reference for graduate school."

"Applications were due last month."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Have you never met with your advisees over tea or a meal?"

"This is different," Tezuka said, and realized he'd trapped himself the moment the words left his mouth. It burned in the silence, worse than a confession.

Tezuka picked up his bag and made for the stairs.

"Different isn't always bad," Fuji called after him.

 

* * *

 

On Tuesday, it rains.

On Wednesday, the cityscape is grey with clouds.

Fuji doesn't call.

 

* * *

 

By Thursday, Tezuka had all but managed to put the incident firmly out of mind — buried beneath piles of books and grading and miscellaneous administrative work that kept finding its way onto his schedule, courtesy of university politics' time-honored tradition of picking on the youngest members of faculty — when there came a knock at his office door.

"It's open," he called.

The hinges creaked. Tezuka looked up, and froze. Fuji stood there with both hands behind his back, leaning against the doorknob, which clicked to signal it was locked. Fuji unfolded himself from the door.

"Sensei."

"Fuji-kun." Tezuka slowly put down his pen on a stack of graded papers. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to talk to you about graduate school."

"Ah," Tezuka said, very intelligently. "I may not be the best person to ask."

"Yet here I am." Fuji walked forward, placing one hand on the chair before Tezuka's desk. "May I?"

Tezuka made a jerky motion. Fuji sat.

"I haven't heard back from all my schools yet. But Seirei has offered me a full scholarship."

"That's very good news. Congratulations."

"I'm not taking it."

Tezuka knew he shouldn't stare. Fuji met his gaze evenly.

"Why?" Tezuka asked. "What changed your mind?"

"Nothing. It makes you uncomfortable, as long as I remain a student here."

"That's not a reason—"

"It's my reason," Fuji said. "And my decision."

Tezuka thought his tongue might actually be stuck to the roof of his mouth. It shouldn't be possible, but then again, here he was having this conversation. In his office. On a Thursday afternoon.

"How I feel has nothing to do with your decision."

"Don't do that."

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

"I don't—" Tezuka bit back the rest of the sentence. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not."

Fuji was unmoved. "Why did you run out of the meeting on Monday?"

Tezuka had avoided asking himself the same question all week. There probably existed a technical term for it. Willful ignorance, maybe.

"You keep doing this, you know." Fuji was looking down at his hands, smiling faintly. "You go to those meetings even though you don't have to. You talk to me like you really care, the way you're serious about all the things that matter. I think I've talked to you more than I've talked to Sae all year, and now this, and I don't know why..."

He trailed off. Tezuka searched for answers and found none.

"I don't mean to cause you trouble," Fuji added quietly, "and I understand how it will look to other people. But the least you could do is give me the courtesy of a straightforward rejection."

And there. That. Fuji was offering him an out, a more graceful one than Tezuka could have imagined. The question was why he'd even need an out in the first place.

He let out a shaky breath. "I could. But."

Fuji looked up. Tezuka thought of every Monday, too many conversations and not enough communication. Mostly on his own part. He grasped for words.

"It's just that right now…" Tezuka's nails dug into palms. "You have to understand. You're twenty-one."

"Twenty-two," Fuji said. "I took a year off."

"Nevertheless."

"I don't care."

"It won't work."

"Why?" Fuji sounded entirely too calm. "Are you seeing someone?"

"No."

"Are you opposed to the idea of seeing someone?"

Tezuka shook his head. "You're about to start a new chapter in your life, and I'm— Everyone does their dues, their first few years teaching. I could change jobs any minute. We don't know where we'll be, a year or two years from now."

Fuji leaned forward with a determined expression. "I'm staying in Tokyo."

"You said you're turning down Seirei."

"There are other schools."

"I don't want you to end up unhappy."

"Then do something about it."

"I told you—"

"And I told you," Fuji interrupted. "Have dinner with me."

"I can't."

"But do you want to?"

Tezuka straightened the stack of papers on his desk. The pen balanced on top rolled away.

Fuji made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh. "For god's sake, Tezuka. It's a yes or no question."

"There's university policy against this kind of thing."

"I'm graduating in the spring."

"Five months from now."

"I can wait."

"Why do you still go to the student council meetings?" Tezuka glanced up at Fuji. "I read the charter. All the officers are technically required to attend meetings, but no one pays attention to that."

Fuji gave him an odd look. "I used to go once in a while, when I wanted to be alone."

"Why didn't you stop when I showed up?"

"Because you kept showing up."

Tezuka wondered if other people, too, felt this helpless when dealing with Fuji Shuusuke. He suspected — hoped — not. He imagined that being stranded in a hurricane with only a paper lifeline would be less terrifying than this.

"Have dinner with me," Fuji asked once more.

"Please don't."

"It doesn't have to be next week. I can wait."

"Until after graduation?"

Fuji didn't answer immediately. "Is that a promise?"

Tezuka wanted to scream. "A lot can happen in five months."

"Like what?"

"Things change."

"Not if I don't want them to."

 _How do you always get what you want?_ he didn't say out loud. "Will you still go to the student council meetings?"

"Will you?" Fuji countered.

"Why?"

"You asked first. "

"This changes things."

"Only technically."

In another life, Tezuka thought, Fuji would have made a fine lawyer. In this life, all Fuji made was a tangled mess of Tezuka's world, and one that he did not have the heart to unmake. Not when it had so quietly, inexplicably replaced every paper rope and storm.

Tezuka closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them, Fuji was still watching him.

"After graduation?" His own voice sounded hoarse, like the fuzz on greening leaves.

"You promise?"

Tezuka nodded, throat tight.

Fuji gave a faint smile. "Then it's a date."

 

* * *

 

Fuji calls, finally, on Friday.

"I took the job," he says. "I'd like to see you before I go."

Fuji suggests the cafe where they once went for iced tea on a sweltering evening in July. He remembers it as if from a lifetime ago. Tezuka wonders what social etiquette says about fourth dates. Perhaps other people simply stop counting after the third.

They meet at the train station, as usual. Fuji is relaxed, smiling, no trace left of the sharp edges from their last phone call. The anecdotes are easy in the absence of pointed questions, and conversation glides with no undertow. Fuji talks at length about Saeki Koujirou and the documentary project in Australia.

"When are you leaving?" Tezuka asks.

"Tomorrow." Fuji swirls the straw through his drink, making the ice cubes clink against the glass. "There's some training in Osaka, and they have to get everyone's paperwork done. The real thing starts in June."

"Looking forward to it?"

"It's an adventure."

"I'm happy for you," Tezuka says after a moment's pause.

Fuji watches the straw circle around his glass. "I know."

The afternoon slides into evening, honeyed light stretching shadows across every street. They walk back to the train station together. Fuji stops on the first step leading up to the entrance and turns around. Standing like this, they're almost at eye level.

"I think you should kiss me," he says. "For goodbye and all."

Tezuka glances around. People are everywhere, streaming by on the sidewalk, leaving and entering the station. He can hear the rumble of trains and the dulcet chime of the PA.

"Right here?"

"Are you afraid what people will think?"

Something about Fuji's tone makes Tezuka pause. No one is paying them any mind, and even if they were, Fuji is leaving. Tomorrow. Truthfulness is as much a virtue as patience, and both equally capable of vice. He steps close, curls his hand around the back of Fuji's head and kisses him.

He means it to be firm, chaste. Fuji grabs his shoulders when he tries to pull back. Fuji's tongue is hot against his own, and his other arm finds its way around Fuji's waist. If people weren't staring before, they definitely are now. But there are more important things.

The evening air feels shockingly cold when they break apart. Fuji's hands slide down his arms until their fingers are intertwined. His grip isn't altogether steady.

"Two years is a long time," Fuji says.

"I can't hold you back."

"What if I asked you to?"

"Why would you do that?"

"To see what you'd say."

Tezuka wills his voice not to shake. "I'd say yes. But I'd rather wait."

Fuji's fingers tighten around his. "I wouldn't."

And Tezuka knows. But he doesn't know how to answer. So they stand and listen to the sound of heels on pavement, trains leaving the station and time ticking on.

"Ask me to come back to your place with you," Fuji whispers.

Tezuka's mouth feels dry. "Come back to my place with me," he hears himself say.

"Ask me to stay with you."

"Stay with me."

"Please."

"Please."

Fuji leans in until their foreheads are just touching, until they're sharing the same breath of air, before he steals even that last bit of space and presses their lips together again.

"I'm still leaving tomorrow," he says.

Tezuka closes his eyes. "I'll wait."

 

* * *

 

He bought Fuji a single, blooming orchid for his graduation. Fuji touched the white flower with gentle hands.

"For purity?"

"Refinement," Tezuka said. Wholeness. Love — but the word ill-suited him.

Fuji seemed to like the orchid well enough. "It's beautiful."

"I'm glad." Tezuka looked back at the university building, front doors festooned in blue and white. "Do you have the afternoon free?"

"Meeting my parents for dinner, but until then. Why?"

"I thought we could," Tezuka managed, before awkwardness took over.

Fuji gave him an amused look. Tezuka shrugged.

"I know this great place in Shibuya," Fuji said. "They have black sesame ice cream. Ever been?"

"No, but Dean Hashimoto swears by it."

"Hope we don't run into him." Fuji laughed at the look on Tezuka's face. "I'm kidding."

"We should go before it gets too late."

"Then let's." Fuji started off down the street, Tezuka following. It was a quiet Saturday in March, nearly a year to the day when they'd first met.

He slowed his steps now. "By the way."

Fuji glanced over his shoulder at Tezuka.

"Congratulations on your graduation."

And there was no surer sign than this, Tezuka thought, seeing Fuji smile so full and bright. "Thank you."

He let Fuji take his hand as they walked to the train station together, and didn't let go.


End file.
